On my daily commute to work I was stuck behind someone on the escalator that certified the following premise: The ankle that is fat, the fankle, is inherently different than the ankle that morphs directly into the calf, the cankle. Both which are fashionably tragic.
The woman in front of me had tragic (not tragic in that Romeo and Juliet way, but in that fat kid eats because he's fat and fat because he eats kind of way) fankles. Not only was she wearing strappy white sandals (its pre-vernal equinox, come on!) but her ankle fat was just pouring over the sides of them so that the buckle was literally engulfed by her fankle skin.
Now, I do not claim to have perfect ankles, I actually detest my own, but in no way were hers muscular in order to support complementary muscular calves, which is the downfall of most cankle-ites. This leaves me nothing to believe but that she just had big lumpy fankles, by all means real as well as inexcusable. The fashion faux pas: she was wearing a below the knee skirt, highlighting them for the world! Worst of all, she was not trying to berid her curse by moving those lower limb muscles, but she was standing spread-fankle taking up the entire breadth of the escalator! I was forced to stare at this for the entire pull to the top of the subway before I could even get my thoughts straight, where I proceeded to power walk off my fears of a fanklular future.
1 comment:
it is much funnier to make fun of people with cankles, mostly because we both know a certain body-language speaking psycho who was blessed with them, but also becuase when they decide to take the stairs and climb those fankles clear off, you will feel bad. I mean, you might not, I'm not a scientist, I'm just saying. Fankles can be fickle, but cankles last forever.
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